He had never fisted anyone before. For some reason, this surprised me.
He showed me his hands. He wondered if I was sure I could take him. I smiled and held back a chuckle.
We moved to near our original spot, though this time we would share a sheet with other friends. I laid my chuck on the floor. He found a glove and lube. In retrospect, I suppose I was already well slicked from fucking Slut, but in fisting using more lube is never a problem.
He started slow, fingering me with just a few digits. Because he’d never done this before, I thought I had to talk him through it. I asked the number of fingers inside of me. I requested he insert another.
And then I had to ask permission.
“Sir, may I cum?”
“Yes, you may.”
My lesson ended there. He, in fact, needed no instruction.
I orgasmed two or three times just from his fingering. With his digits playing in my pussy, he explained he’d seen fistings before. (And, to be fair, I am well trained.)
With all of his fingers in place, I ushered him inside me.
“Push. Push. Push…”
And he was in.
And I was screaming his name, writhing in ecstasy.
Every time I felt the wave approaching, the warmth growing, I asked permission. And he always gave it…except once.
One time he said no. And I begged. I begged and begged just wanting to feel the muscles contract, feel the high from his manipulations in my pussy. And when finally said yes, I came so hard I almost cried. Tears built up in my eyes.
“I lurv da frl of you feestin mepussah.”
“What was that?”
Less lost in the mumbling of a woman cumming, I said, “I love the feel of your fist in my pussy.”
But then it was time for us to end.
He built up the rhythm of his fist fucking, pounding me harder and harder until once again I came, this time finally crying. My tears sweetly slid down my cheeks, kissing my skin as I screamed his name, thanking him for my orgasm.
I popped NHF’s fisting cherry.
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